Come Away With Me
by MarleyJ
Summary: GSR. How we wished LTSB ended
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, just took 'em out for a spin.

Summary: GSR, jumps off from the end of LTSB. This is the way we wish it ended.

Rating: PG-13, barely.

Spoilers: SLL, SDD, LTSB

Heartfelt thanks: To Gibby and Ryoko for helping me make it better.

Come Away With Me

Sara Sidle leaned into the doorway with a wry smile on her face. ""I'm, uh, I'm sorry I missed your page. It's just, um, you tell me to get a life, and I get one, and then you expect me to be there at a moment's notice. It's, um, confusing..."

She was feeling brave after Grissom's rare compliment on the Mandy Kirk case and decided to try for some clarity on his mood toward her. Since the Haviland case, when Grissom's mentor used an unfortunate choice of words describing her friendship with Hank, Gris had been more distant than usual, save a brief interlude before her face-off with Marjorie Wescott.

Their dynamic had changed, leaving Grissom cold and angry, and Sara wounded. She wanted answers. She wanted a lot of things, actually, but for now she was hoping Grissom would just shed a little light on his mindset. At least she hoped for an answer – not a riddle, haiku or parable - but she reminded herself she was dealing with Gil Grissom, after all.

Grissom took in Sara's statement and removed his glasses. He sighed heavily, running his hands over his face, hoping to buy some time before he had to respond. It also afforded him the opportunity to avoid her eyes. He knew one look would give away his true feelings, the ones he couldn't articulate well – or at all – in words. He had plenty of things he wanted to say to Sara, explanations he wanted to provide, but words failed him. He was not a man of emotions, which meant words didn't come easy in instances such as these, and Sara's relative candor had left him speechless. He finally collected his thoughts and looked up to find she was gone.

Grissom stared at the empty doorway, baffled by another human interaction, until Catherine Willows filled it half-minute after Sara's "disappearance."

"Gris? GRIS?" Catherine called, snapping her fingers in the air. "You there?"

"Hey," Grissom said distractedly, still trying to sort out the last 5 minutes in his head. 

"I ran the paint chips and the victim's clothes from the hit-and-run down to trace. Results should be back tonight."

"Good. Um, what case was that again?" Even for Grissom, this was exceptional distraction. Still busy analyzing Sara's comment, his mind was on overdrive, positing different answers he could have given and trying to determine Sara's probable response.

"Hit-and-run. Spring Mountain Road. About 6 hours ago? Ring a bell?" Catherine said, her tone half-worry and half-annoyance.

"Right, well let me know what you find."

"Will do. I'm heading out. Wanna grab some breakfast?"

"Wish I could," he said, grabbing a stack of papers about three inches thick, then producing a smirk. "Paperwork."

Catherine shifted her weight off the doorframe and put on her sunglasses. 

"Lucky you – that's why you get the big bucks."

Catherine turned on her heel and was headed toward the parking lot when she passed the women's bathroom. _Might as well make a pit stop, she thought to herself. She was always getting on Lindsay's case for not going before a car ride, so Catherine thought she'd take her own advice for once. Upon entering the institutional-green bathroom, Catherine heard the ragged breaths and hitches of a woman crying. Not one to seek out awkward emotional moments with coworkers, she took the first available stall and got down to business._

The other stall door squeaked loudly as it opened. The investigator in Catherine got the better of her and she peered through the vertical gap between her door and the stall to find out who was having the bad day. _Sara?_ she thought incredulously as she watched the young woman cup her hands to splash water on her face. Catherine had just seen her colleague in the breakroom, where Sara smiled while Nicky and Warrick made bad jokes related to the Kirk case: "I could go for a bite right about now. Sara, come over here."

_What is this about? _Catherine wondered as Sara left the bathroom. She just solved a case – solo – and she was headed home. "I just have to drop by Grissom's, then I am O-F-F for two days," she boasted to the others. _Ah. Catherine's eyebrows automatically arched. Grissom. _When will this dance end?__

Her bathroom investigations complete, Catherine headed back toward Grissom's office.

"Hey!" she called sharply as she stood in the doorframe.

Grissom had his feet up on his desk and was looking at some indiscriminate point in the room.

"I thought you had paperwork." 

Grissom's head snapped up, his thoughts interrupted by his co-worker's voice.  

Leaning into the office, Catherine lowered her voice a bit, but didn't take the edge off: "Make this right with Sara. You can probably still catch her in the parking lot." Grissom's blue eyes narrowed in confusion as he tried to process what she just said.

"I mean it. Don't screw this up. You know better." And with that stern warning Catherine slipped on her shades and headed out of the building. It was all she could do not to smile during her tough-love declarations to her boss. _Two socially awkward people in love_, she thought. _God help them - and us._

Grissom didn't move during his "conversation" with Catherine and he wasn't moving now that she'd left. He felt like he had been punched in the heart by Sara's words and kicked in the groin by Catherine's.

Grissom pulled his legs off his desk and placed his feet on the floor. He dropped his elbows to his knees and ran his fingers through his curly hair, eventually cradling his head in his hands. _How did she..? When did she…? _What do I do know?__

Before he knew it, Grissom was heading out of his office and toward the parking lot. His heart caught in his throat as he realized she might already have left. His pace quickened, but he started breathing more smoothly has he stepped into the early morning dessert heat and saw her driving toward the exit – and him. 

"Sara!" he called. "SARA!" he shouted, waving an arm for good measure. His voice sounded so foreign to his ears. 

Sara slowed her car to a stop parallel to her boss. Her driver's side window smoothly lowered, but she looked straight ahead, her sunglasses masking those expressive eyes.

"What?" she asked pointedly.

"I, uh…I­‑"

Sara sighed loudly. _I don't have time for this. I don't have the energy. I can't do this anymore._

"Well, um, I was wondering if, you, um, would like to have dinner… with me…tonight."

Now it was Sara's turn to be shocked. _Did he just? She literally could not believe what she just heard._

She slowly turned her face toward Grissom. "What did you just say?"

"I'm asking you to dinner. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" This time Grissom's voice was even and tender, not hesitant and tentative, and he mentally congratulated himself for not sounding like a 14-year-old asking out his first date.

Now it was Sara's turn to fluster. "I – I'd like that."

"Good. I'll pick you up at 7"

"OK, then. Well, see you, um… then." _Smooth, Sara. She mentally smacked herself for the poor sentence construction._

Grissom smirked, happy he wasn't the only one having a tough time putting words together. "Good."

Sara put her car in drive and got about 10 feet before she hit the breaks and backed up, returning to the spot where this truly amazing interaction occurred. Grissom heard the commotion and walked back.

"Yes?" he asked, almost playfully.

"Where are we going? What do I wear?"

"It's a surprise, and, something appropriate for a nice dinner."

_That's not a lot to go on_, she thought, but she knew that pushing would probably not reveal much more.

"OK. See you at 7"

"Right. 7."


	2. Chapter 2

_Holy shit_, Sara thought as she sunk back into her couch. Her mouth was agape in a half-genuine-smile, half-smirk. _I can't believe that just happened._ Sara exhaled slowly, deciding that trying to figure out the variables that set this incredible event in motion would be futile.

_I might as well just go with the flow_, she thought, pulling herself off the couch and heading into her bedroom to find something to wear to a "nice" dinner. A "nice" dinner with the man she was utterly and totally in love with. _No pressure. Oh, and by the way, he's your boss__. No pressure at all._

While Sara was rummaging through her closet, Grissom had returned to his desk only to be struck with fear. _What did I do? How did I do that? Why?_

Grissom tried to focus on something – anything – as this dialogue raged in his head. Scanning the room, his eyes rested on the fetal pig. His distinguished face broke into a warm smile as he remembered the Kaye Shelton case, and his evening with Sara and Porky, the decomposing pig. He was freezing in the nighttime desert cold when he heard footsteps. Glancing up he found a smiling Sara, who handed him some much needed hot coffee, draped a warm blanket around his shoulders, then proceeded to spend the night with him – and the pig.

_That's why,_ was his answer.

It was a decidedly un-Grissomian thing to do, but the scientist decided for once to go with his gut instead of logic, heart instead of head. As plain as the pickled pig in front of him were the facts, at least this fact: _I love her._

Grissom nearly jolted like a kid who slept through his alarm to wake and realize how late he is. _Where _am_ I taking her to dinner?_

Smirking, Grissom left the paperwork, rose from his desk and headed out the door in his characteristic shuffle to figure out the answer to that riddle.


	3. Chapter 3

Sara glanced at the clock on her kitchen wall. 6:58. She was so nervous, she couldn't sit, instead opting to pace around her kitchen and keep an eye on the clock. _Calm down! she told herself. But she knew it was futile. No form of coaching would take the edge off.  She had been waiting for an evening like this for years. Suddenly an image raced across her memory and she smiled at its significance._

"What's your pulse at now?" she had asked him. _God, what's my pulse now? she thought with a laugh. __I just hope he can't see the veins in my neck throbbing while my heart races._

And her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she heard a knock on the door. Steadying herself, she walked over, and placing her hand on the knob, thought, _There's__ no turning back now._

Sara opened the door to find Gil Grissom in a navy suit coat, khaki-colored slacks and tie, looking far more confident and relaxed that she. They stood there for a few seconds, just looking at each other, until Grissom broke the stalemate.

"May I come in?" he asked playfully.

"Oh, right. Of course. Please."

Grissom walked in, unconsciously surveying Sara's apartment like any good CSI. He stopped in the living room, turned to face Sara, and handed her a large fern he had been holding at his side. She had been so preoccupied with registering how damn fine he looked, she hadn't even noticed it.

"For you."

"Um, thanks" she replied, confused by its meaning.

"Everything else seemed trite, and I wanted to make up for my behavior at the Newman house this week. I was wrong to behave that way."

_Wow,_ Sara thought. _Who is this guy and what has he done with Grissom?_

Grissom smiled to himself as he watched Sara's puzzled reaction to his gift play out on her face. She reached for the plant, her slim fingers grazing his. As if an electric shock sparked between them, they both gasped quietly, hoping the other had not heard their reaction.

"This might need water," she stuttered, heading for the kitchen quickly, hoping the distance would dissipate some of the electricity in the air. Grissom rocked back on his heels with the confidence of a man in control as he studied her neat, uncluttered apartment. Ever since his instincts got the better of him this morning, he was running on autopilot, and was uncharacteristically fine with that decision. He knew he was in love with her, and every action and decision in connection with her just felt…._right._

 "OK, the fern is watered. We can split if you like," Sara said as she walked back into the living room, fishing for her keys in her purse. With her attention on other matters, Grissom's deep blue eyes traveled the length of his date's body. Her hair was swept up, with random curls yielding to gravity, dangling distractedly toward the thin spaghetti straps curving over her delicate, yet muscular, shoulders. The simple black dress hugged her lean form  to mid-thigh, where it ended to display her sculpted runner's calves. He ended his tour at her feet, which sported seriously a sexy pair of shiny black heels.

_God help me_, Grissom thought, as his mouth suddenly went dry and his breath caught in his throat. Sara's eyes met his at just that moment, and she smirked as she caught him checking her out.

"You ready?" she grinned.

Grissom tried to speak but the words weren't forthcoming. He tried clearing his throat, then coughed out a weak, "Yes."

"You OK, Gris?" Sara was clearly enjoying this. "Would you like a drink? Water? A beer?"

_Alcohol is the last thing I need_, he thought. _I feel drunk already._

"No, I'm fine," he smiled, regaining the confidence he had been priding himself on when she entered the room 30 seconds ago. "Let's go." Lightly placing his hand on the small of 

her back, he guided her out the door and toward his car.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride to Maggio's was mercifully short. The ordinary act of riding together in a car seemed to underscore the rather extraordinary events of the day, causing a small amount of _I-can't-believe-we're-actually-doing-this nervousness to creep into the young evening. Classical music played softly in the background as the talk, mostly small, centered around the areas they were driving through._

The restaurant was situated in a small, out-of-the-way area of tony Summerlin. Grissom drove by it one evening on the way back to headquarters. The understated yet elegant façade caught his eye and he made a mental note to check it out one day.

He was pleasantly surprised when he and Sara entered the restaurant. The review he found on the Las Vegas Review-Journal's Web site earlier that day called it "A hidden gem. One of the area's most romantic eateries. And tourist-free!" Softly lit with mellow jazz setting the mood through strategically arranged speakers, the tables were filled with well-dressed locals, most gazing at each other over small clusters of flickering votives in the center of their tables. Tiny white Christmas lights hung on chest-high potted trees ringing the edges of the room.

Proud of his wise choice of eatery, Gil smiled to himself. _This will do just fine. _

The couple checked in with the maitre d, who checked his reservation book, grabbed two tall menus and extended his left hand. "Dr. Grissom, ma'am, this way, please." Grissom's hand once again found its way to the small of Sara's back as they followed him to their table, located toward the eastern edge of the room near … _Is that a dance floor?_ Grissom wondered.

The maitre d moved to pull out Sara's chair for her, but Grissom subtly intercepted him without her noticing and performed the task himself. Sara grinned at the gallant gesture, then at Grissom himself as he took his seat.

"You have excellent manners," she teased, remembering how he held open every door she had stepped through so far that night.

"They come in handy," he replied gently, raising his eyebrows slightly.

They had finished their meals and were sipping the last of their wine when Sara tried unsuccessfully to subdue a giggle.

"What?" Grissom asked, his brow furrowing in concern that he had unconsciously embarrassed himself somehow.

The intensity of his gaze had been so overpowering, and the tone of the evening so charged and deep, she had no idea where this levity came from.

"It's just…" she started, then stopped, almost shocked at how vulnerable the man across from her looked at this moment. "It's just that if you told me this morning that we would end up here tonight, I wouldn't have believed you." She smiled so broadly, it almost took Grissom's breath away.

"All I wanted from you in your office was a little clarity, and you ended up giving me more than I had ever hoped for."

"This…" she hesitated, almost embarrassed at the revelation she was about to make. "This is one of the most romantic evenings I've ever had." The last statement she made quietly, almost overwhelmed by what she was experiencing now.

Emboldened by her confession, Grissom reached around the flickering candles and softly took her right hand in his left. Gently stroking her thumb with his, their eyes met. The connection so powerful, Sara could barely hold his gaze.

"It's long overdue," he answered softly. "Sara, I ---"

But before he could finish his sentence, the soft chaos of a jazz quartet readying for their set interrupted them. Brushes grazed a snare drum, low notes from an upright bass hung in the air, fingers ran up and down a keyboard and the small pop of a microphone coming to life rang through the room.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We're Four to the Bar and we'll try not to disturb you too much," the singer laughed. She had the sultry, experienced voice of a person who has sung a few thousand sets and liked it so much she kept going. "Our first song was made popular by a beautiful new jazz singer, Miss Norah Jones. The dance floor is open."

Taking their cue, the quartet started the opening bars of the song and several couples pushed away from their tables and headed toward the dance floor. Grissom was still holding Sara's hand when their heads turned away from the singer and back toward each other.

Grissom grinned. "Would you?" Sara nodded and stood up, never releasing his hand as they made their way to the dance floor and found a spot with the other couples, swaying together in 3/4 time.

Grissom pulled Sara close to him as their hands clasped near their shoulders, the other set finding the small of each other's back. They were so close, Sara had no choice but to gently rest her cheek against his, not that she minded one bit. Incredibly content and yet excited at the same time, Sara inhaled deeply, breathing in his aftershave and the smell of his skin against hers. 

The sensation suddenly reminded her of childhood. One night she was staying over a friend's when the girl's parents were heading out for a night on the town. She was enraptured as Mr. and Mrs. Dugan came down to leave instructions and a phone number at which to reach them. The couple was stunning and well-dressed. Now, 20 years later, she remembered how handsome Mr. Dugan was and how the smell of his aftershave hung in the air. Even as a young girl, she could sense the adults' anticipation of the special evening. It all seemed so exciting and mature. Now, here she was in the middle of the most exciting date of her life.

As Sara's mind wandered back in time, Grissom slowly guided her around the floor. A confident dancer – his mother made him take lessons as a boy – he smiled as he realized how poor their form was. "Elegant arms," he remembered his instructor calling out, as couples were supposed to uphold their arms in a certain position with a good deal of space between their bodies. Grissom happily traded in form for feeling tonight, and he wondered if even a slip of paper could be placed between them right now.

Grissom felt as if all his neurons were firing simultaneously as he breathed in her scent. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing in time with this own, and listened to the singer as she sang in almost a pleading whisper:

"And I want to wake up with the rain  
Falling on a tin roof  
While I'm safe there in your arms  
So all I ask is for you  
To come away with me in the night  
Come away with me"

When the last notes reverberated across the room, Grissom and Sara looked deep in each other's eyes, which slowly closed as each tilted their head in age-old instinct and their lips met. The kiss was tentative and gentle at first, but grew exponentially in emotion and fervor as the quartet gently slid into an Etta James classic:

"At last  
My love has come along  
My lonely days are over  
And life is like a song"

Realizing they were still holding each other like dancers, Grissom maneuvered them over to a dark corner of the floor. Once there, he released Sara's hands and took her face in his hands, smiling as his lips rejoined hers. Sara, intoxicated by the turn of events, smiled in return, only to quickly find her lips fighting his for purchase. Finally doing what she had been dying to for years, she ran her hands up his face resting them in his tight salt-and-pepper curls. The kisses were gentle, yet urgent, as years of pent-up desire played themselves out in the corner of a darkened dance floor.

Stopping was the last thing Grissom wanted to do, but reason got the best of him as he realized they were no longer dancing, but rather standing there making out. He broke from her lips, and breathing more heavily than he realized, looked over her shoulder. Happily, everyone else was too busy with their own romances to tell these two to get a room.

"Would you like to keep dancing or continue our evening elsewhere?" Grissom smiled, trying to regain his normal breathing pattern.

"If this is dancing, I say let's keep dancing," Sara teased in return, her voice husky from the emotions rattling around her head.

Grissom grinned. Placing his arm protectively around her waist, they headed back for their table, where their check was already waiting. Sara excused herself to the ladies room, while Grissom settled the bill. As soon as he had placed his credit card in the check folder, the waiter silently swooped in and left to ring up the charge. _This guy is good_, Grissom thought to himself, happy he didn't have to wait and anxious not to waste a moment. A minute later the gentleman returned and with a smile placed the folder back on the table. "Thank you, Dr. Grissom. Have an excellent evening." Wondering if their waiter had witnessed their raging hormones, Grissom wrote in a heavy tip on the credit card receipt. _This guy is very good._

Sara reappeared to his right, her arm lightly touching his shoulder. "Ready?" she smiled.

Grissom's face broke out in a broad grin as he pushed away from the table, rose to his feet and offered her his arm.


	5. Chapter 5

Grissom opened the passenger-side car door and Sara slid in gracefully. It was only when he got behind the wheel that he realized he didn't know where they were going; a consequence of their bodies being way ahead of their minds at the moment.

"Um, Sara? Where are we going?"

"How about my place? You've never really seen it."

"Great," he replied, wondering how much there really was to see.

When Grissom started the car, classical music filled the air. It was light and gentle, much like how the evening had been so far. Neither said a word, each worried that anything uttered may break this spell and end the night prematurely. Instead they both listened to the strings and horns intertwine, and Sara softly placed her left hand on Grissom's right thigh.

The move sent a shock through his body and Grissom somewhat wide-eyed turned to see Sara wink at him mischievously.

_Greenlightsgreenlightsgreenlights_ he prayed to himself, trying to concentrate on the traffic and the road.

Amazingly, the car and couple returned to Sara's apartment in one piece. Sara worked the locks on her door and walked into the entryway turning on lights. The moment she heard Grissom close the door behind her, she spun around, extended her right hand and crooked her index finger, motioning him to come hither. Leaning against the wall, Sara raised an eyebrow as he strode toward her with a wolfish grin on his face.

Grissom gently held her face in his hands as their lips met, then traced them down her sculpted shoulders in parallel paths. They continued their journey as they rounded her hips and rested low on her back. Sara was busy, herself, her hands drawn toward those luscious curls like magnets. Quickly the kiss deepened and the pair was body-to-body up against the wall, the sounds of lips meeting, quiet moans escaping and short pants filling the silence.

Sara reluctantly pulled her hands from Grissom's hair and tucked them under his suit coat in an attempt to get him to shed it. He got the hint; she could feel his lips part in a smile as he shrugged his shoulders so Sara's hands could push the coat over his shoulders. It had barely landed with on the ground when Grissom kicked it back toward the door and away from the action. At the same time he was furiously working on escaping his tie, all the while never removing his lips from Sara's. Sara, who had the advantage with two free hands, was busy running her hands up and down the front of Grissom's shirt, somewhat impeding his progress on the tie. But soon it joined the suit coat on the floor a few feet away and Grissom decided to extract revenge. His hands free again, he softly grabbed Sara's wrists and extended them above her head and against the wall.

This time it was Sara's turn to smile as she realized she was at a tactical disadvantage. Grissom's lips headed for the sweet spot where her neck met her shoulders, gently nuzzling the flesh as she sighed loudly.

Sara Sidle had heard the cliché "Weak at the knees" before, but had never experienced it until Gil Grissom had her pinned against the wall in her foyer in a grinding, hungry embrace. The emotions and physical sensations held at bay for years had come crashing through like water cascading through a busted dam. She felt dizzy, lightheaded and unsure on her feet, especially in those heels.

"Gris..." she started, trying to catch her breath. "I…we…."

Grissom stopped sucking on her neck and looked up at her shocked, those blue eyes wild. _Surely this is where she tells me this is a mistake and we should stop_, he thought automatically.

"Let's take this to the couch," she said softly with a smile. "You're making me lightheaded."

Relief rushed through Grissom's body like a flash flood through the desert. He slowly moved toward her and in one quick move, scooped her up in his arms like she was a new bride.

He lowered them to the couch, Sara seated perpendicular to him on his lap. She wasn't getting the access to his face that she wanted, so she hiked her dress up just enough so she could straddle his legs and continue where they left off. Soon they were right back where they started, except this time they were pinned to each other horizontally on the couch, not vertically against the wall.

Still fully clothed they were physically nearing the point of no return when it was Grissom's turn to hit the brakes.

"Sara," he said, pulling his lips off her collarbone. The tone of his voice, though ragged, was no-nonsense, one she heard countless times on the job. Now it was her turn to worry. Her dark brown eyes searched his for a clue.

Grissom pulled himself off her lean body and he sat up on the coach, pulling her to a similar position.

Holding her hands in his, he started: "Sara, honey, maybe we should wait."

Sara warmed at the term of endearment but didn't know what to make of the rest of the sentence.

"Why?"

Grissom took a deep breath and locked his eyes with hers.

"Because I love you. And I don't want you to think – even for a minute – that tonight was a ploy to get you into bed or placate you for my recent behavior. I don't want you to think this is just a one-night-stand. I respect you too much – I love you too much – for that."

Sara's expressive eyes were wide with comprehension. For the second time today she couldn't believe what she had heard. Words failed her, her lips were parted slightly in shock.

"Sara?"

She chuckled and dropped her head to look at their intertwined fingers. When she raised her head Grissom noticed her eyes filling with tears.

Evenly and quietly she spoke: "That is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me." The words caught in her throat hear the end of her sentence and small sobs wracked her thin frame. Sara released Grissom's hands and placed her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Those are tears of joy, right?" he asked, smiling over her shoulder.

Sara placed her lips next to his left ear and her breath was warm on his face. "Gil Grissom," she began, her use of his first name sounding strange to both of them, "I am hopelessly and utterly in love with you."

Grissom pulled back from their embrace and smiled the widest smile she had ever seen. She returned in kind, the small gap between her teeth causing Grissom's heart to skip. Their lips met in a chaste kiss and the newfound couple held each other until their emotions subsided.

Sara was the first to break the silence.

"So, if you won't sleep with me tonight, will you just sleep with me?"

Grissom's brows furrowed, trying to figure out where she was going.

"Just sleep. With me. In my bed. Pajamas on," she explained, then felt the need to go further. "It's just…this night has been so amazing, I'm worried you're going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight or leave and get selective amnesia and this will all be a dream."

"Tonight the only thing I'm going to turn into is your bed," he said with a mischievous smile.

Sara rose from the couch, and grabbing both his hands, pulled him up to join her. Refusing to let go of his hands she walked backwards, leading him into her bedroom. A queen-sized bed sat near the far wall, looking terribly inviting.

"I have sweatpants and a T-shirt my brother left here on his last visit, if you want," she said.

"That would be great."

Sara rummaged around in her closet, pulling out two sets of clothes. One she handed to Grissom, the other she tucked under her arm.

"I'm gonna go change," she said, with a smile, hiking a thumb over her shoulder toward the bathroom.

Grissom grinned in return as she shut the door. _Thank God. If I'm going to make good on his night of chastity, the last thing I need is seeing her undress._

He snapped himself out of his fantasy of what that would look like and got busy shedding his clothes and climbing into his makeshift pajamas – grey sweatpants and a navy T-shirt. Grissom hung his pants and shirt on a chair near the bed and sunk into the mattress, awed at what a lucky man he was.

Just then Sara knocked at the door twice.

"You decent?"

"You could say," Grissom replied slyly. Sara peeked her head around the door but had one hand over her eyes.

"Seriously, Gris. If you don't want us to…you know…get intimate tonight, you need to play fair."

"Sara, I'm decent. Trust me."

Since she trusted him more than anyone in the world, Sara opened her eyes and smiled at the sight of Gil Grissom sitting upright in her bed under the covers.  A more inviting sight she had never witnessed.

As she crossed over to the other side of the bed, Grissom took note of her pajamas, a grey Harvard T-shirt and maroon sweatpants. Catching him checking her out, Sara replied matter-of-factly: "I know it's not sexy, but that's the point."

"There will be plenty of time for that later," Grissom replied in a low voice that nearly made her shiver in anticipation as she got under the covers and shut off the light on her nightstand.

Sara scooted over to tuck herself in the crook of Grissom's outstretched right arm and snuggled in tight. Placing her right hand across her chest, she breathed in his scent, silently marveling at the day's turn of events and feeling his chest expand and contract with each breath.

"Gris?"

"Yes?"

"So if you didn't want us to have sex tonight, would you consider ravaging me tomorrow morning?" she teased.

Grissom chuckled out loud, surprising himself with the loud sound in the dark room. Gently he took Sara's hand from his chest and moved it up to his heart, covering it with his own.

"Oh, you can count on it."

~ The End


End file.
